Tempest (17 page)

Aaron sucked in a sharp breath. The mirage of Scott flickered briefly before settling back over him. “Recombinants,” he said.

Teresa nodded. “It’s another angle we have to investigate, especially if evidence supports the theory that the copter was piloted from the ground. Frankly, we don’t know anything about the other Recombinants, and our efforts to learn more have been blocked from day one.”

“For all we know,” Simon added, “the people behind the Recombinant projects could also be behind Humankind.”

“That’s a huge leap of logic,” Aaron said. He didn’t sound angry, considering he was a Recombinant himself. Just kind of sad and a little bit curious.

“You’re right. But it’s one we must consider.”

“Who’s questioning the guard they arrested?” I asked.

“The warden and two federal agents from the Department of Justice,” Teresa replied. “No Metas allowed.”

“Typical.”

“We have no jurisdiction, remember? We aren’t police officers, and we aren’t feds. We’re only here by the grace of Warden Hudson, because his word carries a lot of weight within the federal prison system. I don’t like being left out of the interrogation, but I don’t want to lose complete access by pissing him off.”

“And I appreciate that, Trance,” Hudson said, startling all of us with his stealthy approach. Our small huddle opened a bit to allow him in. He looked exhausted but determined. “We’ll begin questioning when the other agents arrive in about half an hour, but I wanted to speak with everyone before you left.”

We were, as they say, all ears.

“I spent a lot of time in the Warren today,” he continued, “speaking with various prisoners, touring their facilities. I admit, I haven’t done that before and I should have. We were all too content pretending that locking them away and drugging the water supply was the best thing for everyone. We wanted to forget the person behind the mask, so to speak. We were—I was wrong.”

No one us spoke, even though a collective “no shit” was dangling on the tips of our tongues. Speaking up now might break the spell and make him change his mind about whatever he hadn’t yet said. I actually held my breath.

“The overall reaction to yesterday’s tragedies has impressed me, as has the peaceful community the prisoners have built. I’ll be recommending to my superiors that we conduct individual interviews with each prisoner in order to determine if a pardon or parole is appropriate.”

I blinked. It wasn’t a blanket “we’ll pardon everyone,” but I’d be damned if it wasn’t amazing progress. Warden Hudson was actually, seriously considering pardons for the prisoners on Manhattan. I found myself grinning, actually excited by the idea that, only a week ago, I’d have condemned without a second thought.

“Thank you, Warden,” Teresa said.

“Don’t thank me yet, Trance,” Hudson said. “It’s only a recommendation, and I have a lot of people above me to convince. It won’t be easy.”

“The fact that you’re willing to bring this to your superiors is a huge step forward.”

“Due, in no small part, to your own efforts.”

Teresa’s wide, proud smile was worth every dead end and brick wall she’d hit in her journey to get to this moment. “We were all different people fighting in a different time. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“We’ll see.”

We would see, all right. Exactly what, though, was still anyone’s guess.

Sixteen

First Steps

T
eresa shared the news with Gage and the others before we left the observation tower, and I couldn’t tell if the joy in his voice was because of the pardons, or because we’d all be going home tomorrow. He missed her, she missed him, and it was much easier keeping everyone safe if we were in one place, rather than scattered across the country.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about going home. I tried to suss it out the entire drive back to Simon’s house, and I still hadn’t reached a conclusion when we arrived. We’d all eaten at the tower commissary, but Luisa still had a spread of homemade cookies and fresh fruit waiting for us.

“To celebrate your victory,” she said with a cheerful smile.

It didn’t feel like a victory yet. We had a long way to go before any pardons were actually signed, and that knowledge tempered our celebration. Marco seemed less dour than usual, which was a nice change. He even entertained Caleb for a while by shifting into his panther form and letting the little boy ride him like a pony. I took a picture and emailed it to Renee. We chatted and played cards and did not turn on the news until after Caleb was put to bed.

Nothing about the prison guard’s arrest had been leaked to the media, so the bulk of the evening stories rehashed the same information. More public opinion polls that showed an interesting divide on how the “Banes” should be handled—while almost half said to just keep them locked up, and 20 percent were undecided, a small percentage actually supported conditional releases. Teresa still hadn’t made a public statement; she planned on doing it tomorrow, after we arrived home.

The most surprising silence was also coming from Governor Winstead’s campaign. His press secretary was keeping a tight “no comment” on everything related to the copter crash and Humankind, probably until he got a better read on the public pulse. Everyone knew he was anti-Meta, but he wasn’t stupid enough to come out in favor of Humankind if the majority of Americans denounced them as a hate group.

Aaron had excused himself a while ago to call Noah—almost an hour ago, actually. Curious, I wandered across the hall to the other apartment, only to find it silent and empty. His phone was on his air mattress.

Fresh air tickled the back of my neck and I pulled it around me. It smelled like tar and summer humidity. A door or window was open somewhere. I followed the current upstairs, past the third floor, to narrow stairs leading to an ajar roof access door. The roof was flat and covered in tarpaper, and someone had put a few pieces of cheap lawn furniture in one corner.

Aaron was sitting on the roof’s ledge, legs dangling over the side, his back to me. The fact that we were three stories up made me a little nervous about his position facing the street, but his Recombinant power would probably help him survive an accidental tumble. He sat hunched over, as if protecting himself from a chilly breeze, even though the air was warm and still.

“You don’t have to lurk, Ethan,” he said without looking.

“Wasn’t sure if I was welcome, or if this was a private party.”

“It’s invitation only. Consider yourself invited.”

The ledge was roughly at waist height, so instead of sitting, I leaned forward on my elbows and looked down at the street. We weren’t the tallest building on the block, but we had a decent view of town, which was dark. And quiet. Except for the lights shining from the windows below us, we could have been the only two people for miles. For some reason, that thought made my pulse jump and my palms sweat.

“I guess the trip is over,” he said. “Homeward bound.”

“It was only supposed to be a few days. They were definitely not the days I was expecting, either.”

“Didn’t anticipate getting blown up again?”

“Among other things.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw him look down at me, and I resisted the urge to look up. I kept my gaze locked on the broken windows of the house across the street.

“You seem different today,” he said.

“Must be the bruises. They’re just not as fashionable as they used to be.”

He made an exasperated noise. “Why do you do that?”

“Make jokes? Deflect with sarcasm?” I stood up straight and angled to face him. We were almost at eye level. “It’s who I am, Aaron.”

“Or who you let yourself be.”

“And you’re the expert on self-identity? The guy with multiple personalities in his head?”

He spun in the other direction and jumped off the ledge to stand facing me. “I don’t know how else to explain this to you, Ethan. I’m not multiple anything. I’m me. Just me, the guy you’ve spent the last few days working with, and who I plan to be from now on. Accept it, or stay the hell away from me.”

I gaped at him, a little dumbfounded by the tirade and the thick layer of frustration in his voice. Pissing him off had not been my goal. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I just . . . still have trouble with what you did to get . . . where you are.”

“You’ve managed to forgive the Meta prisoners for their past crimes, so why can’t you do the same for me? I just want a chance.”

“To do what?”

“Have a life. I know what’s in my head, I don’t need you to remind me of it every time you look at me, like I’m some kind of stain on your shoe.”

“I do not—” I stopped denying it as the truth hit home. I had done it, many times in the past, especially during those first few weeks. Until we came to Manhattan, I had been unable to fathom the idea of forgiving him for the lives he’d destroyed.

Until I’d looked my mother’s killer in the face and seen not a monster, but a Metahuman man with a past, trying to make the best of where his life’s choices had led him. Aaron’s situation was completely different—and yet not at all. Why was I still being so hard on him?

“I’m sorry,” I said. He quirked an eyebrow in a disbelieving (and kind of cute) way. “I’m really sorry for treating you that way. This entire trip has messed with my head, but in a good way. I think.”

“You think?”

Aaron shifted a hair’s breadth closer, and holy cow, I could smell him. I swirled the air a little, ruffling the tips of his spiky blond hair, drawing that spicy scent closer. Creepy, maybe, especially when I still hadn’t told him the whole truth.

“No, I know,” I said. “There’s something else I haven’t told anyone. The main reason I volunteered to come on this trip.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you wanted to confront Freddy McTaggert?”

“I did, but not just because he killed my mother.” I took a deep, bracing breath. “McTaggert’s also my biological father.”

Aaron searched my face, his eyes shifting so fast they practically vibrated in his head. Probably looking for the joke, but I wasn’t kidding. “You’re serious,” he finally said.

“Yeah.”

“That’s . . .”

“Crazy?”

“Kind of.”

“Welcome to my world.” I relaxed a bit now that the secret was out. Another two-ton gorilla was off my chest, letting me breathe a little bit easier. “My mom told me right before she died. I knew Jinx had attacked her, that he was the reason she was dying. I guess she wanted me to know so I didn’t go after him.”

“And you didn’t.”

“I never got the chance. The War was at its peak, and then everything really went to hell those last few months. Rangers were dying left and right, and we were going into the field younger and younger. By that time everyone had lost someone, and then our powers were gone. I didn’t give revenge much thought at all until our powers came back in January.

“But even then, Jinx was still in prison. He couldn’t hurt anyone else. And then Teresa started talking about working with the warden and getting them released. I probably don’t have to tell you I actively hated her plan.”

Aaron’s lips twitched. “I could tell.”

“I couldn’t stand the idea of any of them being set free after what they did, but especially Jinx. Even knowing Simon and hearing the stories about the War . . . I kept telling myself it wasn’t fair that they got to be free while our parents and siblings were still dead. And I was scared of him.”

Aaron frowned and tilted his head, curious.

“Not scared that he’d come after me,” I continued. “Scared he would say something to someone. That if we met, he’d somehow know he was my father, and he’d tell people. I didn’t want my friends to know.”

“You’re ashamed of having a villain for a father,” Aaron said.

How did he seem to know just where my train of thought was going? I didn’t think I was that transparent—or maybe he was just that smart. “Not ashamed, exactly. Terrified, mostly. You have to understand, Aaron, growing up for us, as depowered Metas, was absolute hell. The country was a mess and everyone blamed Metas for it, whether we were Rangers or Banes. My foster family never hit me, but they were emotionally abusive. They never let me forget that I wasn’t worth the food they fed me.”

Getting those words out to Teresa last night had been excruciating. They tumbled right out of my mouth in front of Aaron. He didn’t comment or offer condolences for a sucky adolescence. Just listened with an intensity that surprised me—and made me want to keep talking.

“I know it wasn’t as hard for me as Renee and Marco,” I said. “I didn’t have blue skin or fur. I blended in and could have faked a normal life, maybe forgotten some parts of my past. My foster parents just wouldn’t let me.”

“You may not have physically obvious powers,” Aaron said, his voice carrying a surprisingly sharp edge, “but your pain wasn’t less than theirs. You all suffered.”

I angled away from him, toward the building ledge, feeling oddly exposed by the turn in conversation. I picked at a loose piece of grout with my thumb. “I learned to keep everything inside. Put that next to sarcasm as defense mechanism number two. My foster parents used my past to hurt me at every opportunity, which taught me that any secret was ammunition. Even after I grew up and got out, I didn’t talk. Still don’t, not even to my friends now. Teresa knows some things about my past. Dahlia has most of the details now.”

Aaron seemed to puzzle through the mess of information I’d thrown at him in the last five minutes. “So Teresa, Dahlia, neither of them knows that McTaggert is your father?”

“Dahlia does. Teresa knows he killed my mother and that’s it. So far, you’re the only other person I’ve told that he’s my father.”

“Why?”

“Why haven’t I told anyone else?”

“Why are you telling me and not one of your friends? Why not Teresa?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.

“Because I want to tell you.” Tired of the sideways conversation, I angled back toward him. The air between us was charged with something—tension, maybe. “I can’t change who my father is, Aaron, but I can change how I feel about it. I don’t have to see him as a weakness anymore, or to see myself as weak because of him. He doesn’t deserve to have that kind of power over my life.”

“You don’t want to hide who you are anymore.”

“Exactly. My foster parents took everything about me that made me different and twisted it into a weakness. And that made me think I was weak for being who I was.”

“Meta.”

“Yeah, that.” I took a flying leap off that metaphorical cliff, and for the first time, didn’t care what I found at the bottom. “And being gay.”

Aaron went perfectly still for the space of three heartbeats (yes, I counted, but my heart was kind of racing, so those beats went really fast). Then he looked at me like a stranger might, taking in the details when you see someone for the first time and want to make sure you remember everything later. He didn’t say anything as he worked something out in his mind. His expression cleared and his eyes brightened. He smiled, and my heart kicked a little harder.

“Ten years is a long time to finally get my head on straight about myself,” I said, “but my foster parents were wrong. About a lot of things. I’m just glad I finally figured that out.”

“And that you got your head on
straight
?” he asked with a wry twist of his lips.

I rolled my eyes, but smiled at the unintentional pun. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Trusting me enough to tell me your truth. It can’t be easy when you’ve spent your whole life hiding it.”

“Honestly? Making the decision to talk about all of this wasn’t easy. Actually doing it
was
easy, and now I feel . . . lighter. I mean, all of the external bullshit is still there, but my internal bullshit has left the building. I’m not ashamed or scared anymore—of any of it.”

Aaron’s smile got a little wider. “So you’re ready to be an out and proud gay superhero?”

I laughed. “Despite my grandiose storytelling abilities when small children are present, I’m not really a hero. Not like Teresa and Gage and the others.” He opened his mouth to reply, so I plowed on ahead. “I don’t see myself as heroic because I’ve never let anyone see me. The real me was always too afraid to show himself.”

“You wore a mask even when you were out of costume.”

“Exactly.”

“Now you have something to prove to yourself?”

“Yeah. And I will, starting with the Warren.”

“How’s that?”

“Five days ago, all I wanted was to leave every Meta on that island right where they are, bagged, tagged, and under armed guard. Now I want them free. I want their kids to have a safe place to live where regular people won’t taunt them or bully them. I want the Metas in hiding to have a haven, where they can be among friends.”

His smile melted into something more thoughtful. “You want to stay in New York?”

“No, I do want to go home tomorrow, but I’m coming back. If McTaggert allows it, I want to build a relationship with Andrew. I’ve never had a brother before.”

Aaron’s eyes flashed with pain. “Being a big brother isn’t easy, especially when you fail them.”

Without thinking, I touched his left arm at the shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. He met my gaze and didn’t pull away. “You did not fail Jimmy,” I said.

“I should have done more to protect him from Deuce.”

“Half of you was tied to a pole and the other half was unconscious on the floor. You, Noah, and Dahlia did everything you could to save him.”